“There’s nothing left of the sky. Nothing. Why is that so beautiful?”

wake to anger, wake to pain
wake to blue skies ripened to rain

wake to quiet, wake to peace
wake to furrowed forehead canyon crease

wake to tapping, wake to dream
wake to silent paralytic scream

pointed finger, painted face?
heart of concrete, skin of lace?

wake to sorrow, wake to loss
wake to glacial, body of moss

wake to sunshine, wake to burn
wake to starlight in a brassy urn

wake to hunger, wake to need
wake to threadbare, bleeding plead

pointed finger, painted face?
human vanish without a trace?

wake to waking, wake to sleep
wake to nothing, nothing to keep.

a pointed finger? a painted face?
a waking mind, in a pre-known place.

harbor still in morning blue
enough for me, plenty for you

clouds will come and bring relief
our spirit endless, our body brief.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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